


What’s The Worst Thing He Could Say?

by twoseas



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Geralt having zero resistance against genuine affection, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Jaskier gets to make an impassioned speech, Just barely touches the edges of angst, M/M, Truth Spells, except the spell is a conveniently placed enchanted forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23800411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoseas/pseuds/twoseas
Summary: Traveling together once more, Jaskier and Geralt enter an enchanted forest where any question asked receives an immediate truthful answer.Jaskier, naturally, takes shameless advantage of the situation.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 90
Kudos: 1243





	What’s The Worst Thing He Could Say?

**Author's Note:**

> Have some nice Geraskier in these trying times.
> 
> Please, enjoy!

Jaskier idly strummed and hummed under his breath, fine tuning a melody that had been adamantly encroaching upon his thoughts ever since he and Geralt reunited. 

Never letting up on his music, Jaskier watched Geralt’s back. The witcher walked at Roach’s side, hand reaching out every few moments to give the horse a gentle, affectionate pat paired with a few words of comfort. 

Jaskier sighed. 

The sun began dipping and Jaskier glanced around the woods. It was a pretty place, as far as woods went. But they all sort of started to blend together when you traveled as much as Jaskier did. 

“Are we there yet?” Jaskier asked slowly, hitting each syllable with punchy wariness, fully knowing Geralt would have a sarcastic reply or dismissive grunt in answer. 

“Nearly,” Geralt informed him instead.

Making a pleased noise (at the answer and how it was given), Jaskier decided to test his luck with the witcher. “How nearly?”

“We’ll be there by nightfall.”

Stowing his lute and swinging the case strap so that it lay ready and waiting on his back, Jaskier sped up to match Geralt’s speed. “Good. I’m dying for a bath and an actual bed to sleep on.”

“Why didn’t you stay in the city then?” Geralt asked blandly. 

“It was depressing and I didn’t like it. The men were rude, the ladies were dull, I had writer’s block, and I much prefer traipsing about the gods forsaken wilderness with you,” Jaskier answered at once. 

He opened and closed his mouth like a gasping fish.

That hadn’t been what he meant to say. 

He must’ve been far more tired than he realized. 

But it was all worth it when Geralt laughed, a disbelieving huff of air paired with a smirk and head shake. 

They continued on a few more steps in silence. 

“How’s everything with your child surprise going?” Jaskier ventured, painfully curious as to how Geralt was handling the responsibility of a dethroned princess gifted with magic. 

“It’s been going well,” Geralt told him, eyes still forward facing. “She’s been training with Triss and Yennefer. Her control’s improved. I’m impressed with how she’s managing her abilities and handling what’s happened to her. I’m hardly suited to fatherhood, but I am proud of her.”

Jaskier stopped in the middle of the path and gawked. 

Geralt stopped as well, brow furrowing like he hadn’t meant to share so much information. 

Pulling himself together and grinning bemusedly, Jaskier put a hand on his hip, pleased. “Well, aren’t you uncharacteristically open today! What’s the special occasion?”

“I don’t know,” he grunted, scowl deepening the creases of his handsomely chiseled face. 

Jaskier frowned at the disquiet in Geralt’s expression. “Something the matter?”

“Yes.” Geralt’s jaw clenched as he looked around, eyes narrowed and assessing. 

A frisson of fear traveled up Jaskier’s spine. “Something witcher-y?”

“Yes.” Geralt snapped his mouth shut, looking angry for having answered so quickly. “Stop asking me questions.”

“Why?”

Geralt rolled his eyes and told him, “Because I keep answering whatever you ask regardless of whether I mean to or not.”

“Oh.” Jaskier made a face and considered the implications. “ _ Oh _ . Is that why I told you how much I hated the city instead of regaling you with tales of my fame and many conquests?”

“Most likely.”

“Well,” Jaskier breathed. “That’s rather fascinating.”

“It’s the woods themselves,” Geralt told him after a moment. His eyes speculatively darted through the trees. “It’s not a curse. It’s an ancient enchantment.”

“I’ve never heard of an enchanted wood in this area,” Jaskier noted helpfully. “Have you?”

Shooting Jaskier a withering glare, Geralt shook his head. “No. Last I was in the region, these woods were home to a mad sorcerer and his creations. But the woods themselves seemed normal.”

“This is going to make for a fantastic song,” Jaskier gushed, taking in the trees and bushes and chirping birds with new interest and fresh eyes. “I can call it ‘The Wood of Truth’ or, uh, ‘The Loose Lipped Forest’ maybe!”

“...no, that was rubbish,” Jaskier muttered despondently. “Geralt, what do you think?”

“That they’re both awful,” Geralt grunted, still looking around the forest in suspicion. “And stop asking me things.”

Put out by Geralt’s admittedly typical attitude towards the titles Jaskier himself didn’t particularly care for, Jaskier took in a deep breath to complain. “Well, that’s just lovely. I ask for some genuine advice and you get snippy. What’s got you so grumpy?”

“The enchantment stealing truth from my lips,” Geralt growled, picking up his pace enough to have Roach snorting at his side. “Obviously.”

“Oh,  _ obviously _ .” Rolling his own eyes, Jaskier gestured disdainfully at Geralt’s massive shoulders. “Excuse me for thinking we were past such issues. Really, there’s nothing you could possibly say to me in these woods that would surprise me, you tactless oaf! You hardly kept your harsh opinions to yourself before - be it about me, my behavior, my songs, or my voice. Actually, let’s start there! It’s as good a place as any. Please, Geralt, what are your brutally honest thoughts about my filling-less pie of a voice?”

“I think your voice is beautiful. It’s one of the sounds I enjoy most in this world and I missed it terribly when I ran you off,” Geralt told him in an unhesitating manner before continuing in a far angrier growl, “What did I say about asking me questions?!”

“To stop,” Jaskier answered in the same thoughtless manner that seemed to be favored by the enchantment. The enchantment didn't stop Jaskier from grinning at the witcher, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. “Geralt, that was the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. We’ll make a poet of you yet.”

The witcher responded by stomping off, face a veritable thundercloud. 

“No, really!” Jaskier pressed, chasing after the glowering man. “It was touching! Tell me more.”

An irritable grunt. 

“Fine then,” Jaskier tossed out airily. “You’ve left me no choice. Geralt, do you consider us friends?”

“Yes.” Followed by, “FUCK.”

“I knew it!” Jaskier crowed, chest positively burning with warmth and no small measure of relief. “I mean, I’ve never doubted it. But still, the confirmation is exceedingly gratifying.”

Geralt’s jaw ticked. His silence rang out loud and telling. 

“Oh, don’t be that way,” Jaskier chastised, catching up with only a little difficulty. “There’s nothing wrong with telling me I’m your friend. You’ve been my best friend for years. Since we met, really.”

Jaskier gasped loud and full of hope. “Wait! Geralt, do you consider me your best friend?”

“Yes.” 

Geralt came to a sudden halt and spun to face Jaskier. He moved so quickly Jaskier nearly stumbled into that voluptuous, if armor clad, chest. The witcher spoke through his grit teeth, a hissing, ire filled thing. “Stop. Asking. Questions.”

Stomping down the teeny tiny, itsy bitsy bit of guilt he felt at Geralt’s sudden feral turn, something he only really did when wounded (emotionally, not physically - his response to physical wounds was usually upsettingly nonchalant), Jaskier crossed his arms defensively. “Maybe I’d stop if this wasn’t the first time you’ve spoken earnestly and without that biting wit of yours everyone finds  _ so _ charming.”

Geralt’s body was a long line of tension as he resumed his hasty pace down the road. 

“No, no!” Jaskier rushed back in line with the witcher. “No huffy grunting and stalking off to brood. We are having this conversation. It shouldn’t take an enchanted forest to get you to admit we’re friends, Geralt! That’s utterly ridiculous.”

Geralt scoffed, eyes fixed on the road. 

“I know you're not exactly the touchy feely type, but you could’ve hinted! Did it occur to you that I might like to hear it from you?”

“No.” Geralt grumbled his frustration at having to answer. 

“Well I would! It would certainly help me deal with...nevermind what it’d help me deal with. It’d just be nice.” Jaskier sucked in a breath, cheeks puffing out, “Honestly, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the things you do, the way you show you care where you can. I do. But I...we’re friends. You can admit that. It doesn’t make you any less tough and scary and big and mean. And because we’re friends you don’t have to worry so much about what you might say. There are few things that could turn me against you, Geralt.”

Jaskier dipped his head, suddenly shy. He scuffed the toe of his boot against a small rock. “I can’t even think of one thing, to be quite honest. So I don’t understand what’s got you so upset. What’s the worst thing you could tell me?”

“I love you.” 

“Wh-what,” Jaskier sputtered, eyes stretching wide enough to dry and tear up. 

Geralt didn’t swear or grunt or run off. Instead he froze in place. His bright yellow eyes went round and vulnerable. 

“You love me?” Jaskier whispered, astonishment coloring his voice. 

“Yes. Fuck,” Geralt muttered brokenly, coming to life all at once. He moved at a brisk, purposeful pace, leaving Jaskier and Roach behind. 

“No! Wait!” Jaskier shouted, heart doing a lively, drunken jig in the depths of his chest. “Geralt, wait!”

Fumbling into a run, Jaskier gave chase. He caught Geralt by the elbow and wrapped his hands around a distractingly large bicep. 

“Geralt-“ Breathing in a shaky inhale, Jaskier looked up at Geralt’s face, trying to meet his eyes. The witcher wouldn’t let him. But Jaskier still sent up a silent thanks to whichever gods and goddesses looked kindly down on him. Geralt could easily outrun Jaskier, could easily shake him off. Instead he stayed in place and looked out into the forest, mouth a tight line and eyes distant. A small blessing. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier tried softly. “Did you mean that?”

“Yes.” Breaking Jaskier’s hold with ease, but undeniable care, Geralt spun on his heel and brought a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Dammit, Jaskier! What else do you want to know? What other secrets would you like to force out of me?”

“Everything,” Jaskier answered at once. “All of it. Everything that makes you you, I want to know.”

“You shouldn’t,” Geralt snapped, face contorted in pain. 

“Why not?” Stomping his foot in demand, Jaskier met Geralt’s sharp eyes with a determined look of his own. 

“Because I ruin everything.” Snarling though he was, Geralt’s eyes betrayed the hurt behind the words he spoke. “Everything I dare to care about, I destroy. I knew full well you weren’t Destiny’s shit shoveller when I blamed you for everything. I knew because it’s my fault. It’s me, it’s always been me, and it will always be me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jaskier argued, shaking his head forcefully. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” Geralt laughed humorlessly. 

“Yes, you are!” Jaskier put his hands on his hips and exhaled noisily. “Absolutely!”

Geralt looked at Jaskier with a defeated sort of certainty. “Everyone I’ve ever loved has been worse off for knowing me.”

He walked off, a portrait of tragedy. 

“That’s complete-”

“Truth,” Geralt interrupted, barely looking back. 

Jaskier followed him with measured, disdainful steps he hoped conveyed his incredulity. “And what proof do you have of that?” 

“There was Renfri.” Geralt’s voice deepened, strangled by emotion. “I could have loved her. Instead I killed her.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier grieved honestly, arms falling limply to his sides. “I am. But Geralt-”

“You know nearly all of what happened between me and Yen.”

“Yes, but-”

Geralt met Jaskier’s gaze with an unreadable expression. “If I hadn’t invoked the law of surprise and goaded destiny who knows what life Ciri would’ve had - she could have had better than me. My own mother left me to Kaer Morhen, left me to become what I am. Do you really need further proof?”

“No,” Jaskier admitted. “Because I still think you’re wrong.”

Geralt shook his head. Roach clopped on behind them. 

“No, you’re wrong,” Jaskier continued, eyes never leaving Geralt’s melancholy face. “I know you’re wrong. Look at me!”

“What about you?” Geralt asked, not entirely unkindly. 

“You care about me!” Jaskier half accused. “I’m your best bloody friend in the whole wide world! You  _ love _ me!”

There was, through no fault of Jaskier’s, quite a bit of relishing when it came to pointing out the last bit. 

Geralt bowed his head and sighed again, but Jaskier was not to be deterred. 

“I’ve been travelling with you since I was barely a man.” Pausing, Jaskier gave that phrasing some consideration and corrected it accordingly. “As ahead of my peers as I may have been in experience, intelligence, and talent, I was still very young, Geralt. I’m not quite as young these days, despite my stamina, vitality, and youthful good looks that are sliding gracefully into mature distinction as the years wear on.”

Taking a moment to realize he was going off topic, Jaskier explained, “What I’m saying is this - I’ve known you for most of my life. The years I've known you far outnumber the years that came before. I’ve seen you through thick and thin. Watched you survive impossible situations. Sang your praises across the kingdoms and drunkenly cursed your name at the foot of mountains.”

“And I’m still here,” Jaskier told him earnestly. “I’m alive, hale and hearty. My name is famous, my songs are  _ legendary _ . I’ve performed for royalty, seen much more of the world than I ever thought possible. I’ve encountered monsters and mages, kings and queens, creatures of death and destruction and wonder and impossibility. My life is very far from ruined, Geralt.”

“I’ve nearly gotten you killed,” Geralt argued, tone gruff. 

“And then immediately did everything you could to save me,” Jaskier countered. “And let’s not forget all the times you’ve pulled me out of a bind, be they at the hands of elves, monsters, or angry husbands. We’ve been together a long time, Geralt. Admitting we have feelings of the romantic variety for each other will change precisely one thing - we will have lots and lots of very physically taxing sex. Which, in addition to the sheer delight I feel at the mere thought of bedding you, creates a whole host of other benefits. You can stop wasting your money on the lovely ladies of ill repute and I can stop being chased half dressed from the houses of nobility. That last one is really a very welcome change, I’ve lost some of my favorite hats that way.”

That got him a hint of laughter. 

Hope sprung deep within Jaskier, the optimistic sense that he was winning the day buoying him up to unheard of levels of lightness. 

“So...stop being all  _ you _ about this,” Jaskier concluded. “You love me. And I love you. It’s all going to be lovely and brilliant and full of beautiful songs you’ll pretend not to like and grunts that I’ll interpret as declarations of affection. We’ll fight like we always do, I’ll be pushy and you’ll be a grouchy, rude, old man and we’ll both drive each other mad some days. There’ll probably be terrifying monsters for you to slay and yelly princesses going through adolescence, which, to be honest, sounds worse than the monsters. Armies will invade and be defeated and devil eyed sorceresses will say very condescending and inaccurate things about my physical appearance. But you and me? That’s only ever going to be worth it. And you can believe me because apparently we can’t lie here!”

Jaskier completed his speech with a victorious flailing of his arms and a broad grin.

Geralt met his gaze with a look that was nothing short of fond. Utterly besotted. In  _ Love _ . “We’ve been out of the enchantment since you started to talk about your stamina, vitality, and good looks.”

“Have we really?” Jaskier looked around. “Huh.”

Geralt’s mouth quirked. 

“Well, nevermind that then.” Shaking off the distraction, Jaskier sidled up to Geralt’s side with a sly, hopeful smile. “Now’s the time to bestow a kiss upon your fair bard.”

“I never agreed to anything,” Geralt pointed out. His own lips were most definitely threatening to turn into a smirk. 

“Yes, but you’re going to because I made a very eloquent, reasonable, rational, and devastatingly passionate speech.” Jaskier felt a pin prick of insecurity. “Right?”

Geralt hummed, a flash of impishness illuminating his eyes.

“Oh, oh! I see how it is,” Jaskier put on his stroppiest, haughtiest tone. “I give you poetry. I give you  _ romance _ . And what do I get? Not even a single - Geralt!”

Lifted up off the ground and into a bridal carry, Jaskier gawked at Geralt and his undisguised smile. His body was warm and tingly all over, contact with the witcher’s ever impressive physique paired with such unsuppressed proof of Geralt’s affection sending his body into premature raptures. Jaskier enjoyed the manhandling immensely. 

“You’re a brute,” Jaskier told him gleefully. 

“Hm.”

“So about that kiss?”

Geralt’s smile broadened before he ducked his head in acquiescence. 

They barely parted from a shockingly gentle, yet entirely too promising kiss when Jaskier had to open his mouth. 

“I’m going to write you the best song,” Jaskier promised breathlessly. “What rhymes with massive cock?”

Being dropped unceremoniously into some shrubs was entirely worth it for the laugh Geralt tried to hide. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Jaskier: And then he treated me to a very tender, yet sensual and adventurous night at the next village’s inn.  
> Yennefer: You’ve told us this story ten fucking times, bard.  
> Triss: I think it’s sweet.  
> Ciri: You know, Jaskier, you remind me quite a lot of my grandfather, King Eist.  
> Jaskier: Ruggedly handsome and endowed with a regal air?  
> Ciri: Gross.  
> Geralt, wincing: Hm


End file.
